Something Steady, Something Stable
by Sandfire Kat
Summary: It didn't make sense. None of it did. Not the circumstances, the directions, the consequences. In an emergency, it is vital to remain calm. To keep yourself composed, and in control, no matter what comes up. Shaun couldn't do that. He had tried. Despite his best efforts, he had failed. In the aftermath, it's almost too much to ask that everyone else be expected to succeed.


A/N: Requested by yesmaddyyyposts: Gosh all I want is a fic where in 1x08 Shaun is shot instead of that girl Avery. And ssgirl: Maybe you could write a Shaun/Lea fic where Shaun is hurt or something and Lea goes to visit him in the hospital and that's when she meets everyone, like some angst but mostly fluff.

This work is a result of requests made to me by yesmaddyyyposts and ssgirl on my tumblr blog thegooddoctorheadcanons. If you like it, I'd love to hear your feedback, and I'd really appreciate you checking out all of the other shorter snippets of writing I have on there. Also, if you have your own request, you could leave it there for me, as well. 3

This story was written back before season one, episode eleven. It is a rewrite of season one, episode eight. It's designed and written in a way where it's plausible every other main plot event from this (ie Glassman's worry for Shaun's wellbeing and pushing for a therapist and so on) could still arise.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The store was quieter than it usually was. There weren't any mothers yelling for their child's attention, trying to will them to behave. There weren't clusters of teenagers talking a little bit too loudly, or laughing a little too long, like they tended to. It was pretty vacant. There was just soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional ringing of the cash register. It was too early in the morning so far for there to be any real activity. Which was perfectly fine for him.

Shaun stood near the front of the vacant grocery store, pensive and thoughtful as his eyes combed through the carefully-organized fruit display. He never usually made stops on his way to work. Already, he'd had difficulties in making it to Saint Bonaventure before his shift began. If he was late, Doctor Melendez would be angry, and he would likely be assigned more scutwork. But he wouldn't be late— he had told himself that he would make sure to keep an eye on the time. And this detour wouldn't take long. He just had to find an apple.

Lea had stolen the one he'd had in his apartment, and she'd taken a bite out of it before he could stop her. He'd had nothing else as a proper substitute, so he had been forced to take this small detour. He couldn't skip breakfast, and he wouldn't have time to eat an entire meal at the cafeteria once he got to the hospital. Skipping over it wasn't an option, either. This was the best course of action to take, and it left him here. As he reached out to take one of the green apples in his hand, to look it over and make sure it wasn't bruised or damaged, his thoughts were mulling subconsciously in the back of his mind, as something else to focus on.

'Individuals who eat breakfast on a daily basis are healthier than those who routinely opt out. Eating a meal at the start of the day can ensure that your blood sugar doesn't fluctuate as sharply; by preventing any initial downward spike, it prevents you from getting hungry as easily. Eating breakfast also helps stave off cardiovascular disease, and it can reduce the risk of diabetes.' Behind him, two more people came into the store— a man and a woman walking close beside the other. As they made for the refrigerators in the back, their voices drifted over to Shaun, louder than the music playing in the background. His recitations stuttered at the interruption.

However, he didn't look up from the apple he was holding in his hands. It didn't appear to have any blemishes or discolorations; it seemed fine to take. As he began to make up his mind to choose this one, he continued to dwell absently over the facts that came and went through his mind. It was habitual, in a way, but mostly it served as the perfect distraction. To ignore other things around him, like the couple that were still talking a few feet in front of him.

'Eating a meal in the morning has also been shown to improve an individual's mental acuity and memory.'

"It's…kinda hot for a hike, isn't it?" the man was asking.

The girl's reply carried over to him just as prominently. "It's a hike. We're gonna sweat; it happens!"

'If you skip breakfast you could be more prone to—'

"Alright, don't do nothin' stupid! Open the register, put everything in the bag!" Shaun stiffened at the sudden shout. It broke through the peacefulness that had been resting over the market, and immediately he turned and looked over his shoulder. "C'mon! Right now!" A man was standing in front of the checkout, leaning over the counter in the face of one of the workers. There was the distinct sound of a chime, signaling that the man on the other side of the aggressor was wasting no time before complying. Nearly the same moment that Shaun looked back, the robber turned his attention to the few patrons of the store. His attention, and his gun. "Hey! Don't move! Give me your wallets, phones, everything!"

Shaun was rooted in place, still holding onto the apple he'd picked out of the arrangement. He started to twist back just the smallest fraction, when the man's next words, just as strained and harsh, caused him to stop. "Keep your hands where I can see them!" The directions made him freeze in place, like a statue. The barrel of the gun was like a headlight beam, and he was caught right in the middle of it, frozen in slowly-building fear, and now confusion. His eyes stuck on the weapon, and he began to draw defensively closer to himself. His grip on the apple in his hand tightened, and his arms inched closer to his head, stuck up in a signal of surrender.

"I said get out your wallet!" The young doctor shrank back even more as the man focused on him. His mind was spluttering, already struggling to work against the panic and shove it down before it could grow too much, and too fast. The robber stepped closer to him, and so did the gun, and his eyes quickly averted. His heart was ramming against his ribcage, causing blood to thud through his ears. It might have made hearing anything else over the roar impossible, had it not been for the fact that the man was yelling directly in his face. "Wallet!" he yelled. "Now!"

The gun was four inches from his face. Shaun's eyes were wide, and his spark of panic was slowly building into a fire. But he struggled to spit it out— to speak. To make sense, when this person was not. "I can't," was all he managed, though. Already, his mind was racing and kicking into gear. 'A single bullet can cause mass destruction in the human body, causing anything from fractured bones to severe internal bleeding. The severity of the injury depends solely on the type of bullet used, and the gun that it comes from.' In his state, Shaun wasn't anywhere close to discerning either of those details. But the list was unraveling with lightning speed in front of him.

"Why the hell not!?" the man shouted. His eyes were narrowed into slits, and he turned to aim the gun level with the two that had entered the store behind Shaun. The girl's whimper wasn't even registered by Shaun. Not at the moment. His breathing was slowly going haywire— falling out of his control, despite the fact that he was trying everything in his power to stay rooted.

"You…said keep my hands where you could see them," he shoved out, looking anywhere but the gun, now. It seemed to get closer and closer to his face. 'The instant a bullet makes contact with the human body, it partially slows down, transferring a portion of its energy to the surrounding tissues, instead. This causes the tissues of the body to balloon out, which is what causes the principal damage in a gunshot wound.' "My…wallet is in my pocket." 'As the tissues temporarily stretch and bulge, there is widespread laceration of blood vessels, visceral organs, and bone. The damage can be up to five to ten times wider than the actual bullet.' "You can't see my hands, if—"

"Are you tryin' to be a hero!?" The man was losing his patience now.

Sense— sense, make sense. He needed to explain. Elaborate. Slow down. He wished it would slow down. Make sense of what? Which part? Okay…okay. He wasn't a hero, he was— "N- I'm…a surgical resident at—"

He wasn't listening. Shaun flinched backwards and shut his mouth tightly when the man cut him off. "Hey! Hey! Shut the hell up." This was punctuated with the man leaning forward, and jabbing the gun in his face. Shaun shrank away, recoiling in an instant from the weapon's sudden proximity. He ducked away and curled inward. He started to turn and step to the left— to pace, and give himself something else to focus on.

He needed something steady. His heart was racing and skipping in uneven patterns; he couldn't rely on that. His vision was tunneling and shaking. Solid forms were suddenly shivering, as if they were cold. He couldn't even focus on anything around him. If he paced— if his footsteps could create steady patterns. If his strides could be even and measured, he could slow down and he could think. He could make sense— he could make this person make sense. He just needed something steady…

But the man wasn't planning on letting him do anything of the sort. "This isn't a game, man, I'm serious!" he snapped, only growing more agitated with the excess movement. The gun tracked him as he moved; it was locked on its target, and the smallest of glances it took to notice this only made him that much more panicked. By this point, the apple was staying in his hand solely because his grip on it was so dead tight. "Put your damn phone and wallet on the ground, now!" he yelled, edging even closer. Shaun's hands were shaking— his vision was warping, and going in and out. He felt like he couldn't breathe. The man jerked his gun even closer to him, which elicited yet another cringe. "Hey, do you see this, man!?" How could he not? "I'm not playin' around!"

Shaun opened his mouth, as if to speak. He couldn't get anything out, he wasn't doing a good job in staying collected! He had to stay collected! Make sense! He tried to ask him if he could put his hands down, to reach for his wallet— if that would be fine. He didn't have a weapon, he couldn't hurt him like he could, with that gun. He was just here to get an apple! He was just here to get another apple after Lea ate his!

"Just put your phone and wallet on the damn ground!" He was too loud. He was too close, too loud, too angry. Shaun's hands inched closer to his ears, as if to cover them. Again, the gun came far too close; the facts were panicked now— passing so quickly he hardly had time to even register them. 'The bullet's damage can be multiplied even further. The human body is filled with bone and cartilage. Hard structures that could skew a bullet's path, and redirect its straight fire possibly into vital organs. It could get lodged in unidentifiable places, and if left in the body for too long, it could create an infection that could go systemic.'

"C'mon, man, just do what he says!" The man behind Shaun pleaded, but Shaun didn't even register it.

The girl beside him, teary-eyed in her own panic, tried as well. "Please. Listen to him."

Again, Shaun didn't hear it. Not over his own thoughts, his own racing heart.

The robber was quickly running out of patience. He turned to the two, and sent them a poisonous glare. Though the gun's brief aim in their direction was a slightly more frightening threat. "Shut up! Shut up, and get on your knees! Put your hands and knees on the ground right now!" They did so at once, following the directions without hesitation. Shaun, on the other hand, had stopped short, his eyes wide and unseeing as he stared down at the floor. As if the linoleum could offer him any kind of feedback on what he should do. "Get your wallet out right now!" He turned back to Shaun. The doctor stumbled backwards, knocking into the display nearest to him. "Hey!" Explain. Explain, explain, explain, he had to explain, he just had to explain, and he had to get it out. But his tongue wouldn't work; it was paralyzed. He couldn't see, he couldn't tell up from down. "I'll shoot your crazy ass, I swear to God! Are you listening to me!? I'll do it!"

Now he was screaming, and Shaun screwed his eyes shut tightly. He curled away, his back still rammed against the wood behind him. "Yes—" Shaun tried, but failed. He ducked his head and held up his hands so that they shielded his face, as if it would do anything against the bullet that would fire mere inches from his face. Now his thoughts were spluttering, and making little to no sense, even to him. 'Explain— the apple— work, I have to get to— a released bullet can travel 830 feet per second, it— the wallet— my hands— I can't—'

"Hey!" the man screamed.

Shaun stiffened and moved his arms again, about to duck them down, before he remembered that he had to keep them up. Keep them up, up, up— He tried to move his lips, to do anything.

"Hey!"

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, he couldn't think. He couldn't—

"You hear me!?"

He didn't have the chance to reply. If he even would have been able to.

The gun went off. He heard the shot before anything else, oddly enough. But a millisecond after the earsplitting noise, he felt it. A searing, burning pain ripped clear through his lower abdomen, and a piercing agony shot straight through his hip. It was enough to immediately snatch his breath away, and for his right leg to cave in and give out. The apple fell out of his hand the instant his vision exploded in white. Right along with the piece of fruit, Shaun dropped to the ground on his knees, keeping himself upright only by latching onto the wood of the display at the last moment.

The girl let out a scream that grated against her throat. Her hands flew up to her mouth and she twisted quickly, scooting herself back until she hit the fridge with a dull thud. Shaun's eyes were huge, his pupils blown out and dilated as he stared at the floor. The bottom of his shirt was already beginning to dye itself dark red with blood. His breathing ragged and hitching, he fought to keep hold of the display as he twisted to sit back against it. Immediately, the tiny movement caused absolute anguish to rip along his side, and a choking cry of pain ripped its way out of his throat.

The robber's face fell as soon as Shaun did. Like he hadn't anticipated actually pulling the trigger. The color drained from his face, and he looked down at the gun, as if to project blame on the weapon, rather than himself. The girl was pressing herself against the wall, and she was looking at Shaun in complete terror. "You shot him!" she screamed, near hysterics as tears rushed down her face. The assailant didn't move a muscle. "You shot him! You shot him!" The man beside her was just as shell-shocked, his wide eyes going from Shaun to the shooter.

The man turned, starting to look over his shoulder to the door. You could practically see him formulating his plan to abandon the robbery that had now gotten too far out of hand, and just make a break for it. But just as he was turning, the cashier was coming up behind him. He was armed with a metal bat, and as soon as he turned, the employee swung at him with as much strength as he could muster. It collided against the robber's throat with a sickening crack. He crumpled down to the tile, completely limp, and the cashier took the immediate opportunity to dive down and scoop up his gun. He aimed it at him just in case, prepared to shoot should it be needed. But the criminal was prostrate on the ground; he didn't even twitch. So after a moment's pause, the man looked up, his eyes zeroing in on Shaun. "Call an ambulance!" he barked to the man sitting beside his now-sobbing date.

The man was stiff, staring at Shaun in panic. The woman leaned over and smacked him, her hands shaking like leaves. "Brandon!" she snapped.

It was harsh, but it was enough to break him out of his stupor. He shook his head fast, turning and fumbling for his phone, which he'd placed on the ground beside him. "Right— right— you— Avery, you call," he rasped, turning and practically shoving the device at her. "I'll— someone has to help him, someone has to help him." The words came out numb as he turned and crawled quickly over to Shaun. Already, he was nauseated at the sheer amount of blood already there. His stomach was twisting, and he had to make a conscious effort to breathe through his mouth. "Are you okay?" he asked, stupidly. Shaun wasn't even looking at him. He turned and looked at the cashier. "Do you know first-aid!?" he demanded.

Shaun wasn't looking at Brandon, he was looking down at his wound instead. He fought against his panic, his pain, and attempted to keep his mind clear enough to think. Think— think, he had to think. Right lower quadrant— the bullet had gone into his right lower quadrant. Organs located there included the ascending colon, the cecum, the right ureter, the appendix. But the pain – it hurt so much, it hurt, it hurt – was greatest in his pelvis. The bullet could have hit his ilium, it could have shattered it, pieces and fragments of…of bone, could…damaging consequences….

Shaun's head was spinning. Panic was making him think of too many things at once, rather than in order of importance. Bleeding— he needed to stop the bleeding, first. His hands were shaking violently, but he still reached over and attempted to put as much pressure as he could against the open wound. Immediately his hands were stained dark red, a sticky sensation of hot and cold bathing over them. The contact caused his vision to whiten again, and his breathing to escalate even more. He wouldn't be able to apply adequate pressure. His arms felt like rubber; he was losing too much blood.

"You need to— stop the bleeding…" Shaun mumbled, just loud enough to garner Brandon's attention again.

His head whipped back to him. "What?" he asked. "What do I…tell me how to do that!"

Shaun's hands were slowly being covered in blood. This was bad. It was very bad. "M— jacket…on t— injury," he breathed out unsteadily. He couldn't do it himself. He didn't like it when people touched him; it was uncomfortable, and they squeezed too hard. But right now, squeezing was exactly what he needed. He needed pressure; a hard pressure he could not produce on his own. Thankfully, Brandon was able to fill in the blanks and follow them blind. He jerked forward and tried to take off Shaun's jacket as fast and as gently as he could. He had to take his backpack off too. The process jostled Shaun just a fraction to the side, but the small movement was enough to make him choke and spasm in pain.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Brandon rushed. Avery had just gotten off the phone, and she was quick to rush forward and help; she fell to her knees beside her date and quickly caught on. When Brandon balled Shaun's jacket up tightly and pressed it down against the gushing wound, she leaned forward as well and applied her own pressure. The two together applied as much force as they could. It could be effective enough to force the blood to clot. It could keep him from bleeding out on the floor of the market. Hopefully it could keep him alive long enough to make it to the hospital.

Shaun closed his eyes and did his best to slow his breathing before it escalated into hyperventilation. At the panic and the pain, his lungs were screaming to draw in air, and draw it in sharp and fast. But he couldn't let it; he had to stay calm. And in his mind, halfway for pure distraction from the agony tearing at his lower abdomen, halfway just to try and keep himself aware, Shaun concentrated on the facts, in a struggle to calm himself down. 'The sympathetic division of the autonomic nervous system dictates the fight or flight response in the body. Through the release of epinephrine and norepinephrine, it induces bronchodilation, vasodilation, pupil dilation, and heart rate. Triggered by the visceral response to fear or panic, the dilation of blood vessels and increased heart rate could lead to even more blood loss.'

He needed to stay calm. Through conscious meditation, the parasympathetic division of the nervous system can be stimulated and lead to a lowering of heart rate, and the constriction of blood vessels. It could override the sympathetic response and help to staunch the flow of blood significantly. So he bottled back the gasps that were burning at his chest, and he tried to breathe as slowly and as evenly as possible. Though each inhale was sharp and punctured. His thinking was purely methodical, now. He was attempting to separate himself from what was happening as much as he could— to detach himself and forget everything else. To forget that both Brandon and Avery were hovering over him. That his side was splitting open in pure agony, and that by now his own blood was freezing to the touch through his shirt and into his jacket.

But his head was going fuzzy. It was reeling away from his shoulders, and the room was tilting and spinning around him. His hand dragged up at his side and went to his pocket. His fingers were numb and useless, but thankfully it was in the pocket of the side that had not been shot. He felt the comforting touch of the small cloth he kept there at all times, and he tried to grab hold of it and pull it out. To uncover the small scalpel that would be there and hold it to his chest. But once he got his hand into the pocket, he couldn't seem to get it back out. His arm went dead, and instead, a wave of nausea hit him like a brick wall. His hand could just stay there, grazing the memento uselessly.

He grimaced, and his head fell to the side. When he forced his eyes open again, they landed on the robber, whose body was still limp on the floor. Avery was panicking— she was speaking quickly and asking a lot of questions that were too fuzzy for Shaun to make out by this point. His mind was slowing down, and his body was feeling heavy. He wasn't able to stand up against the pain; not for much longer. Still, his eyes focused blearily on the man who had shot him. He sucked in a slow breath that wheezed down his throat, and his words came out muddled and slow. His lips could hardly move enough to separate the syllables. "His…neck— check his…" His eyes started to close again; the last remaining shreds of his consciousness were able to feel a sting of frustration that they could not stay open. That he couldn't think. But the emotion was too far gone to really linger over.

"Hey, you need to stay awake!" Brandon snapped. "The ambulance is going to get here soon, but you have to keep your eyes open. If you don't, we won't know what in the world to do for you!"

"His neck," Shaun repeated, his head falling more against his shoulder. "Blunt-force— …his trachea, check…check his…his…" He couldn't finish it. He couldn't get it out. The final word passed his lips in nothing more than a small sigh before it all became too much. He sagged completely to the side; had it not been for Avery catching him at the last moment, he would have slumped down to the ground in a heap. His consciousness slipped away from him, like sand between his fingers. He wasn't aware of the pain anymore, or the barely-bottled away panic. He wasn't aware of the pressure jabbing down into his side. And he wasn't aware of Avery and Brandon's desperate shouts for him to stay with them.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She rushed down the hall, her heart hammering against her ribs. He'd been late this morning. He'd been late, but nobody had thought anything of it! It wasn't the first time he hadn't been punctual, so they'd all just brushed it off. They'd barely lingered over his absence! At the mere thought, her throat swelled, and guilt sank its claws deep into her chest. But she tried to ignore it for the time being. She tried to ignore it until they would be sure on what was actually happening. All the same, though, the instant she met up with the rest, the question blurted out of her mouth.

"Is he okay!?" Claire demanded the instant her eyes landed on Melendez.

He was walking just as fast as her, and yet somehow his voice was as calm as ever when he replied. Very tense, but still calm. "We don't know, this is routed through Basecamp," he replied. She fell into step beside him, and Jared took up the rear. The instant the two had gotten the news, they were running. Jared took out his pager and double-checked the message that had instantly caused the both of them to freeze in alarm and shock. Claire didn't need to; the words were branded in her mind already.

"They said Shaun's name, but they weren't clear on whether he was hurt or not," he reported.

"Well EMS has a critical inbounding, their hands are a little full to chat right now," Doctor Lim reasoned, sending him a glance over her shoulder. Jared hardly listened to her; if she was offended by this, however, she didn't say anything. The group as a whole just continued their rush out of the hospital doors to meet the ambulance as it pulled up. The instant they were across the threshold and outside, there was a flurry of information to greet them. Claire was stiff as a board, her heart in her throat.

"Twenty-five year old male, single gunshot wound to the abdomen." Claire screeched to a halt as soon as the words hit her ears. And sure enough, as the woman relayed the information, the stretcher was loaded out of the ambulance, and the girl's heart froze over entirely when she saw him. It was Shaun— limp and lifeless. She couldn't tell how much blood he had lost, but his skin was pale and white. He was wearing an oxygen mask. His head lolled uselessly to the side as he was moved, and he didn't even twitch at any of the activity going on around him. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment she was worried she would fall over on the spot. It was only when Jared reached over and grabbed at her wrist did she realize she was so close.

She roused, stiffening and shaking her head as she looked back. She'd missed some of what the woman had said. But as they rolled Shaun into the hospital, she managed to catch the last part. "Signs of severe internal bleeding— oxygen stats in the low eighties." Worry and concern caused her to break into a sprint to catch back up. Jared rushed after her, alarmed at the sudden speed. This wasn't happening— this couldn't be happening! Just the other day, he had been keeping her company during lunch. They'd sat together and he'd shown off the fact that he could make two forks balance on a toothpick on the edge of his glass. He'd been proud of it, and even prouder when it had made her laugh. This wasn't happening now!

Melendez had taken the gurney, to help wheel it the rest of the way in. Doctor Lim took the other side, and the two residents were left to trail behind in their small lapse of judgement. As if the thought occurred to him in the same split second, Melendez glanced back at the two, his eyes flashing at the looks that were on their faces. Dr. Lim got the message and wheeled Shaun the rest of the way. Melendez stopped short to address his students. Claire noticed that his jaw was locked backwards. "Listen to me." His words were slow and heavy. Demanding full attention and complete understanding. "He can't make it to another hospital. There's no other option than what is happening right here, right now. If you cannot handle this, and if you cannot separate yourself from him enough to think logically and treat him like any other patient, I don't want you anywhere near him. I don't want you to even touch him. Do you understand?" His gaze lingered on Claire longer than it did Jared.

She swallowed thickly, but straightened all the same. She nodded. Just once, and stiffly. Melendez didn't seem reassured at all. But after glancing between the two and then back to where Shaun was now waiting, he didn't have more time to agonize. He just turned around and went back, trusting the two to follow, as they did immediately. "Jared, I'm going to need you to get the ultrasound so we can see what's inside." Jared took to the directions immediately, branching away from the others. "We've got to get this bleeding under control right now, he's going to go into shock at any second," Melendez all but growled underneath his breath.

Dr. Lim shared the urgency. "Oxygen stats dropping— heading into the low seventies, he's barely breathing. Severe pelvic fracture— looks like it's unstable. We need an X-Ray!"

Claire closed her eyes tightly.

"OR 3 is prepped and ready!" a nurse called out, the smallest sense of relief stabbing through the tension.

"Okay, we can't waste—" Melendez's eyes flickered upwards and stopped. Claire turned and followed his gaze to see a pair of police officers standing nearby, waiting. She heard Melendez curse impatiently under his breath. "Claire, you stay here," he barked. She turned, her face falling somewhat. She opened her mouth to argue. She wanted to be there— she wanted to make sure he was okay. But the look that Melendez was pinning her with was more than enough to get her to take back whatever she was about to say. "Stay here. Talk to the police and then handle the ER. I'll take Dr. Lim and Jared." Lim didn't object to the role assignment in the slightest; she didn't even look up from Shaun.

Claire closed her eyes again, but forced them back open soon after. "Okay," she managed.

She turned and tore herself away from the group, not even glancing at Jared, who was heading back by now. Instead she veered over to the officers and tried not to listen to what was happening behind her. They perked when she arrived, but she was the first person to speak. Just like before, she couldn't keep the question from bursting out. "What happened?" she demanded, trying to ignore how strained her voice was.

One of the officers answered her. He seemed to have sympathy for her apparent stress, because his voice was gentle. However, no method of delivery could soften the blow of the news he had. "The shooting was in a food market just down the road from here. According to the clerk, a man was trying to rob the store. Busted in, shouted orders— orders that the victim apparently didn't comply to." This was said with a glance over her shoulder, where she knew Shaun would be. At the moment, she couldn't stomach to look, though. "The kid gets shot, and the store clerk clocks the guy with a bat. That's all we know."

"And…the shooter?" she asked.

"Dead when we arrived." The information was said in a slow exhale. "He was hit in the neck— he'd suffocated by the time paramedics got there."

She took in a slow breath. "So…what do you need, then?"

"I need forensics on the victim," he replied.

The word sounded wrong. Not 'Shaun.' But 'Victim.'

"Okay," she rasped. "We'll be sure to let you know."

The officer nodded his thanks. He turned and started away, and his partner followed suit. Claire watched them go for a moment, her lips pressed tightly together. She wasn't sure what to do, now. What was expected of her. She started to turn back, to check on whether or not they needed any help before they rushed into surgery. However, when she turned, she was met with only silence and empty space. Her face fell, and her heart sank. They'd already left.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Claire!"

She closed her eyes at the call. She'd been waiting for it all morning. She'd more than anticipated it, but now that it was here, she wanted to do anything but turn. At the moment, she was bent over a ten-year-old that had come in with a broken leg. It was taking all her willpower to separate herself from what was still happening in OR 3, but she was doing well. She was handling each person that came into the ER; thankfully there were no imminent and serious cases, so far. Someone had come in with food poisoning, another with what looked to be just a very bad case of the flu. She had just been about to turn and ask the child's mother a question, when the yell had cut her off.

After she closed her eyes for a second, she forced herself to turn around. Sure enough, Glassman was rushing into the emergency room. She could hardly bring herself to look at the expression on his face, it was so stricken. She turned and pasted a polite smile on her face as she looked back at the parent, who was looking on with a worried frown. "If you could give me one moment?" she requested. The mother hesitated, but gave a small nod. Claire glanced at the nurse that had been helping her, who silently reassured her she would step in. Which left the doctor free to take a small moment away. Though it was really the last thing that she wanted.

She turned and ended up meeting the president halfway. Her hands were clasped worriedly in front of her. "Doctor Glassman," she started, her voice already not as steady as she would have wanted it to be. Why couldn't she be as collected as Melendez? Even in the face of Shaun shot and bleeding out, his voice hadn't had a single misstep. Even now, with the situation out of her hands, she couldn't manage to muster the same kind of unaffectedness. "Are you—?"

She wasn't allowed to finish. Glassman screeched to a halt once she got close enough and reached down to clamp hard onto her wrist. His grip was tight— she imagined if it stayed there in place long enough, her blood circulation would be interrupted. "What happened?" His voice was usually so soft and thoughtful. Now it was in pieces. It was strained, and stressed, and thick, and he didn't even give her a chance to answer before he was pressing on. "What happened? Where was he? Why wasn't he at work? Where is he now? What's happening?"

Claire bit down on her lower lip. She glanced back at the family she'd left, but gave herself a few more minutes. She shifted so that she was holding onto his arm instead of the reverse, and she pulled him to the side, so that they could find privacy behind one of the curtains. Once she isolated them, she crossed her arms over her chest and ducked her head down. She had to take in a slow breath before she trusted herself speak. "Doctor Glassman, he was— he was at a food market. I guess he was…trying to get something to eat before he came to work. But the store got robbed. The clerk said that he wasn't following whatever directions the shooter was giving." Glassman cringed deeply, ducking down and pressing the heels of his hands hard into his forehead. "He was brought in a little over two hours ago, they're still in surgery."

"Two hours?" he repeated, barely audible. He looked up at her, and she had to make the conscious effort not to look away. "What was his condition when he came in?" He must have rushed to find her the very second he'd caught wind of what happened.

"It was— I wouldn't know as much as Melendez would," she stuttered. It had to be the stupidest answer she'd ever given before in her life. "He'd…only been shot once. But the bullet had fractured his pelvis. He came in barely breathing, they had to rush him into surgery to stop the bleeding. There was a lot of it, but I think it was mostly internal." She took in a slow breath, feeling a little sick at the look that was on the older man's face. "They're still in OR 3," she tried. "If you want to—"

Glassman was already pushing past her. She stepped back quickly and closed her eyes, hearing the screech of the man tossing aside the curtain. When she opened them again, he was already long gone. She stayed rooted for a long heartbeat, staring off into space. Eventually she took in a sharper breath and turned to follow him out. To go back to the child with the broken bone and actually try and fix something.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"…Okay." The singular word was nothing more than a relieved exhale. "I think that's it."

Jared looked at Melendez with the announcement. Before he turned his attention back to Shaun. They had worked extensively; it had taken the three of them together, to pull it off. The bullet had inflicted an unstable fracture of Shaun's pelvis, which had caused devastating internal bleeding. He had started to bleed again twice during their attempts to piece the bones back together. A massive transfusion as well as an arterial embolization had been required to drag him back from the brink of bleeding out. His ascending colon had been ruptured and a colostomy had been needed. They'd had to remove a portion of his right kidney that had been damaged beyond repair by shrapnel.

They'd scrounged together his pelvis through internal fixation— plates and screws to hold every fractured piece together. It had been laborious and intensive and more than the tiniest bit stressful to put it all lightly. But now, with the steady beeping of his heart the only noise in the OR, there was finally a respite. A moment to exhale and relax your shoulders, and feel that first touch of success, however cautious it might be. Dr. Lim turned and surveyed the monitor carefully; it wouldn't be the first time that it would start to blare in alarm when they thought they were in the clear. But now it was unfaltering. She blew out a sigh. "Looks like it," she replied.

"Alright, then." Melendez glanced at Jared. A small sense of pride leaked into his voice when he added: "Nice job, Jared." It wasn't easy at all to operate on someone you knew. Often surgeons were recommended against treating close friends, and prohibited against family, for conflict of interest purposes. There was a worry that there would be judgement issues, and possible compilations because of that. To his knowledge, Jared wasn't exactly close friends with Murphy— they acted more like colleagues, which was understandable. But what did he know about what happened outside of the hospital, really? Claire on the other hand, likely wouldn't have been able to assist as much as Jared had. He could see it on her face when she'd first seen him being unloaded.

Jared dipped his head a little bit underneath the rare praise. "Thank you," he replied.

He checked their list one more time, going through the mental procedures and making sure they hadn't left anything unchecked, or any stone unturned. But it was all wrapped up. For now, at least. He turned, starting to open his mouth, when he stopped short. His eyes caught on Shaun's face, and they stayed locked there. He was still under anesthesia, and he was still hooked up to the breathing ventilator as well— it was all the same. Same was good. And yet, for the briefest of seconds, his eyes lingered on him and couldn't seem to rip away. A fleeting and random memory passed through the back of his mind, uncalled for and slightly unwanted. And for some reason, it made his stomach clench uncomfortably.

He remembered the young man rushing up to him, his hands clasped together like they always were. He remembered the earnest way he'd looked at him, and how his voice had sounded after he'd caught up. He remembered how nervous he'd been to flag him back and speak to him privately for the very first time. For some reason, just right now, the question rang in his ears as clearly as if he was hearing it being asked all over again.

"Am I being punished for something?"

He coughed and cleared his throat. He shook his head, clearing the memory away like he would clear away clinging cobwebs. "Alright." His words were stiffer now, but the others paid no mind to it. Maybe it wasn't as noticeable to them as it was for to him. "Let's close him up, then. Our work here's done." Jared murmured a small agreement. Melendez hesitated, but turned and looked back behind him. Glassman was still standing on the other side of the wall, still watching like a hawk. He didn't even notice Melendez's glance back to him— his eyes were solely for Shaun. He looked worn and exhausted. Neil could practically feel the waves of anxiety leaking through to invade the room.

But he knew nothing could be done about it. He just took in a deep breath and redirected his attention back to where it needed to be. Everything else was trivial. He couldn't let it waver again.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Glassman stood beside the bed, his eyes raw with unfathomable remorse and pain. Shaun was asleep. Intubated. Dead to everything. The surgery had gone well, but now it was just a waiting game, to see whether or not his body would develop a self-destructive inflammatory reaction. Whether or not his organs would shut down. His lungs, his kidneys, his liver…his heart. Any or all of them could give out entirely. Now they were just supposed to wait and watch. For something good to happen. Or something horribly, horribly bad. So far, he was stable and unchanged. His heartbeat was steady in the ICU room, and Aaron was trying his best to latch onto that as best he could.

The man let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It came out shaky and uneven, and somehow almost blaringly loud. He ducked his head and rubbed at his face, trying to bite back against the emotions that bubbled at his throat. Why had Shaun been at the store? Why hadn't he just gone straight to work, like he was supposed to? Why hadn't he just listened to whatever the man had said; didn't he realize the consequences? He hadn't been thinking. He hadn't been—

He hadn't been there. That was the problem. Glassman hadn't been there to protect him, and this was what had happened as a result. He was off somewhere else this morning— he'd been at Maddie's old high school track, lingering on the past and old regrets he'd had, when he'd really just been close to making another. He'd been caught up in the fact that today marked thirteen years since he had lost his daughter. Claire had told him that Shaun had been at the market to get something to eat. Yesterday, he had told Shaun he would be too busy to have breakfast with him today, because he'd known he would want space.

He'd wanted space. That was the reason for all of this. He'd wanted space to mourn a child he'd lost so long ago because he hadn't been there for her. And because of that, on the very same day, thirteen years later, he had almost done the exact same thing. He had almost lost another child to his own neglect. Disappointment and self-loathing was burning like a fire in the back of his throat, and he tried to swallow it all back with far too much difficulty.

The nurse had left a moment ago. With Glassman there at his side, as he'd been since Shaun was cleared to the Intensive Care Unit, there was less worry about hovering. She came in every ten or so minutes, rather than the more frequent visits there usually were with cases like these. Now, they were the only people in the room; the silence was deafening and earsplitting at the same time. He closed his eyes, flinching away from the sight of Shaun's unmoving form. But it did nothing to alleviate the pain. He could still picture him.

"I'm sorry…" When he spoke, his voice was nothing more than a tiny, thick whisper. It was barely audible, but in the empty room, he may as well have yelled. When he opened his eyes again, his vision was blurred and smeared. Through the water, it looked as though Shaun was shaking. Colors warped and shapes distorted. Maybe it was just as good. Because Glassman certainly couldn't keep looking at him the way he was— maybe this would make it easier. "I'm so sorry, Shaun," he repeated, louder this time.

Shaun didn't reply. He wasn't expecting him to. Glassman took a step forward, so that there was no space between him and the hospital bed, and he started to reach out. The motion was slow, out of sheer habit, even though the young man would not be able to pull away or object. He wanted nothing more than to touch him— to reassure himself that Shaun was tangible, and still here. He couldn't hold his hand, since it was hidden underneath the thick blanket laid over him. So he drifted instead to the side of Shaun's face, to rest his hand there lightly.

He had almost lost him. It had been so close. What would have happened if the ambulance had come just the smallest bit later? If Melendez hadn't taken him into surgery right away to stop the bleeding? If the bullet had gone straight through his head, instead? He would be gone. Shaun's entire life, which had stretched out before him, would have screeched to a stop. He would have been left alone. He only had two things left in his life: Shaun and his job. What would become of him if Shaun was stripped away? What would become of him if he was forced to go to another funeral? To stand by and watch them throw dirt over yet another person he had watched grow up? Another person he had loved?

"Please forgive me," Glassman begged, still in that whisper. "I didn't mean to…I didn't mean for this to happen to you, I should have—" He had to choke back another swallow. His thumb stroked back and forth across his temple, and his eyes began to water even more. "I should have been there, I should have protected you, I haven't been there for you…" He cringed again; his other hand went up to his own head, to hide his face and to catch the tears that were now falling. He closed his mouth tightly, to bite down on the sob that was threatening to burst out of his chest. He wasn't successful. "I haven't been there for you, just like I wasn't there for her," he croaked, nearly gagging on the words.

He forced himself to look at him again. To look at the face of the boy he'd been watching for the past eleven years. Of the person he watched grow and learn— of the person he'd cooked with, and spent holidays with. Who he'd helped study and prepare for tests at school, and who he'd watched cross the stage during graduation and had swelled with pride over. Who he had vouched for and stood behind and supported and trusted. Who he loved. Who he'd let get hurt. He looked at the face of the person who had been everything for the past one-hundred and thirty-two months. Because he was everything. To him.

And yet, here they were.

"I'll make it up to you," he vowed, desperate now, as he looked down at Shaun. "I will, I won't let anything like this happen again. I'll make sure of it; I'll keep you safe. You'll be safe." His thumb was still running soothingly over the young man's skin. He took in a slow, deep breath, and he rubbed at his eyes. "You just have to pull through," he willed, his voice breaking now on alternate syllables. "Okay? You understand that, don't you?" Of course he did. He always understood everything. He had always been so smart, always so brilliant. Maddie had been smart, too. The thought caused his expression to crumble in on itself. She had been smart, too. He'd lost her. Today, he had lost her. And today, he had almost lost him. Still could.

"Shaun, I— I can't lose you too," he managed weakly, not even bothering to wipe away the tears now. It was all too much. He was rambling now, but he couldn't get himself to stop. "I lost her, don't make me lose you too, please…I won't be able to. I won't be able to do it. I need you." He needed Shaun just as much as Shaun needed him. Maybe even more. And though it was expected, the fact that Shaun's eyes stayed closed, that he stayed oblivious to all that Glassman was saying, made the old man's chest tear even more. He bent over just a little bit at the waist, his fingers stilling and knitting in the young man's hair.

He shook his head, closing his eyes as tightly as he possibly could. He was touching him; he was there. He was alive. But only for now. He could be torn away from him at any given moment, and somehow that made the situation all the more unbearable. "Please…" he got out, the edges of the beg caving in like an unsound building. "Please let him live…don't take him from me, too…" If there was a God – and ever since Maddie's death, he had been skeptical – then certainly He wouldn't put him through that hell a second time. Certainly He would know that this wasn't the ending Shaun deserved. That Shaun still had so much more to do, and so much more to give. He couldn't be stopped now. Not like this.

The man's shoulders began to shake, and, bent low over Shaun's unconscious form, he began to break down into a fit of sobs. It wasn't loud, and it wasn't nearly as body-wracking as it probably would have been should Glassman been completely alone. But they were hollow with guilt and grief, and they tore at his chest, which already burned and ached with loss. He could have stayed there all day, crying over the man's body as memories and regrets and a significant amount of self-hatred swirled through his mind. But when he became aware of footsteps making for the room, he snapped himself out of it, forcing himself back into the situation.

He pulled his hand away from Shaun's hair, and he took a step back from the bed. He took off his glasses and quickly rubbed at his eyes, getting rid of as much evidence of his tears as possible. He couldn't do anything for the redness that was likely to be there, but he could at least wipe away the tracks of water that were marring his cheeks. The moment he sucked in a slow breath and forced himself to straighten, the surgical team rounded the corner and made their way into the room. Melendez was at the front, and the two remaining residents brought up the rear, like usual.

They were behind Melendez, on either side. It seemed, in the middle of the two, stood a gap that was far too big.

Glassman was as collected as he could be when they came into the room. He tried not to notice the look that was on Claire's face— at her worry and concern, and mostly at her pity when she looked at him. Thankfully, Melendez wasn't affected, and Glassman could focus his attention solely on him. On something steady. Melendez, however, was looking to Shaun, and the stats that were staring back from the monitors he was hooked up to. "Nothing seems to have changed," he commented, only the smallest bit of approval in the words. Mostly, it was still layered with wary caution. "He's still stable? No signs of organ failure?"

Glassman had to pause and make sure that his voice would cooperate with him, and not come out thick or choked. Thankfully, it sounded relatively normal. "He hasn't changed, no," he murmured, looking at the screens himself. "So far he's…he's alright." The word was a little hollower than he intended. But it wasn't worth trying to fix. The atmosphere in the room was tense and rigid. Nobody seemed to know what to say, when the roles were suddenly shifted in a way such as this. But Glassman had something in mind, which he hadn't had a chance to get out before now. He'd been too scattered; too everywhere. Now that it was later, and now that he'd had time, he could get it out.

"Thank you, Neil," he said softly. The doctor perked at this, and turned. Glassman's gaze was steady and earnest as he met his, and as he glanced over to Kalu as well. "And you too, Jared. Thank you for— for saving him." It didn't do it enough justice, and half of him wanted to say more. But he knew that this was enough, at least for now, and it was clear by the looks on the faces of the other doctors that they hadn't been seeking out more. That they hadn't been seeking out thanks to begin with. Jared ducked his head in a tiny nod. Glassman saw the young man's eyes flash as they flickered over to Shaun.

Neil on the other hand, remained solemn. "We haven't saved him yet," he replied. Glassman glanced at him, but only fleetingly. Neil seemed to regret the admittedly-honest response, because his voice was the tiniest bit gentler when he spoke again. "All we can do is wait, now. If you need to leave for any reason…we'll watch him closely." It'd be like any other patient, he knew. But the reassurance came anyway. "We'll do the best we can."

Glassman nodded once. His reply came out in the form of a mumble. "It's all we can do."

Neil looked from Aaron, to Shaun. He shifted and glanced at the ground, before he seemed to brace himself. He nodded once and turned on his heel, to head back out into the hall. Jared followed immediately, yet Claire stayed put where she was. Glassman didn't make eye contact with her; his eyes were only for the other resident. But she drew up enough courage to speak anyway. "Can I…do something? Anything?" she asked. He did turn at this, and she offered him a sympathetic smile. A tinge of regret lingered behind it. "I didn't get to help with the surgery. I'd like to help with something, if I could."

He hesitated. He wasn't sure. His eyes flickered over the bed and something finally came to him. "Do you…have his things?" he asked. Claire seemed unsure what the question entailed, but he was going to elaborate anyway. "He usually brings a…backpack— his apartment key should be in there. He never loses track of it; he keeps it in the front pocket." She nodded, slowly catching on. "If you could…maybe go to his apartment, and get a few of his things…I understand if it's too much to ask, but he would probably like it, and I can't—" His voice failed him, with this. He choked, and just let out a heavy exhale instead. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to take a single step away from him. He couldn't get him any clothes for when he'd be able to change— the ones he'd come in were completely ruined with blood. He couldn't get him his pillow, which he'd probably prefer over the slightly uncomfortable hospital ones. Maybe his blanket…

"Of course I can do that," Claire replied. She seemed to understand his train of thought exactly, because her smile was kind. "My shift ends in an hour and half. If you give me his address, I can be back soon with some things. It's no trouble at all."

Glassman's throat burned. But he managed a nod all the same. "Thank you," he got out.

She smiled, but it was far too sad to be considered an actual grin. "It's the least I could do."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She'd found the place without difficulty. Not like she'd expected any. Shaun's keys had been exactly where Glassman had said they'd be: in the front zipper of his backpack. The bag had been stained and smeared with dried blood— she had tried not to linger too much on the thought before she swiped the keys, but it was a difficult thing to get out of her mind. Just like it was difficult to get rid of Doctor Glassman's expression, too. Her entire residency at Saint Bonaventure, she had only known the man to be calm and collected and wise. Especially after the night with the bus crash, when he had reassured her, she had put the man on a high pedestal. Far above even Melendez.

The man she'd left in the hospital room had not been him. He had been exhausted and tired, and stressed. His eyes had been red and inflamed, and his voice had been hoarse and small. He was a polar body, and even now, it twisted at Claire's heart. He'd stood over Shaun like he was ready to shove away anyone that would dare to get near him, though she knew that wouldn't be the case. He wasn't calm and he wasn't anywhere near close to composed. He looked like a father whose son was slowly dying. He looked like a part of him wished that the fate would have been his, instead.

She shook her head to push away the intrusive thoughts. Currently, she was standing in the middle of Shaun's apartment. It felt foreign to her and a little bit wrong, as if she was breaking and entering, and she'd be caught any second. Though she had to admit to herself, that if she had been asked to draw up what she thought Shaun's apartment looked like, her sketch would be damn near close to the real thing. It didn't look like a single thing was out of place, here. It was spotless and hardly looked lived-in, even. She'd turned on all the lights and she'd found a small duffel bag in the back of his closet she could use. Now she was just trying to pick and choose what she should take back to the hospital.

Clothes, of course, but would he want anything else? Maybe his pillow— she knew that when she went somewhere, that was always stuffed under her arm to come along. She could bring him some snacks he liked, maybe— did he even have any food in the house? If she was in the hospital for an extended stay, what would she want from her home? But then again, would that even help? Her and Shaun were on different wavelengths, she was pretty sure. And even though they got along well at work, she didn't know him inside out yet, so she couldn't even be sure. She figured if she missed something, she could always double back. It wouldn't be a problem.

She turned for the dresser, to pick out another one of his perfectly-folded shirts, when she stopped short.

Someone was knocking on the door.

Her head snapped up, and her mind spluttered in a little bit of shock at the sudden noise. Once again, she felt the distinct feeling of trespassing, even though she'd been given permission to be here. Not exactly by the owner of the apartment, but it was close enough, right? It wasn't like she'd smashed the glass door to get in. She had the key! In the back of her mind she wondered if the person would go away if she just ignored them. But no sooner did the thought cross her mind, did they knock again, louder this time. "Shaun?" It was a girl's voice. "Shaun, it's me. Can you open the door? I just want to talk to you."

Claire had flipped on all the lights when she'd gotten in. It wasn't like she couldn't pretend nobody was home. She cursed herself mentally, but turned and made for the door anyway. She hesitated for only a moment before she sucked in a deep breath and opened it. As anticipated, the person on the other side started to perk at the answer, but immediately stopped short when their eyes met. The girl's face fell, more into confusion than anything else. Claire was wracking her mind for a name. Shaun had mentioned he'd had a girl neighbor, but had he told her her name before? She couldn't remember for the life of her.

The girl stuttered, a little alarmed at the sight of her. "Oh— I— I didn't know that…" She blinked a couple times, before she pointed up towards the ceiling. "I saw that Shaun's light was on, I thought I could just…is he home? I just…wanted to talk to him, but if you two are busy, then that's okay…" Claire frowned, watching as the girl turned to reach behind her. And her confusion only mounted when the stranger produced an apple. Seemingly out of thin air. "I wanted to give him this. I— was angry this morning, and I yelled at him when I shouldn't have. And I kind of…stole his breakfast, so…" Claire's stomach dropped. "I wanted to kind of…just give it back to him. Fix it."

The doctor wasn't sure what to do. At the last piece of information, her mouth had run dry.

The girl raised her eyebrows just a little bit, uncertainty crawling over her face. "Is he home?" she pressed. "Or…are you guys…busy?"

"N-No," she finally got out. Claire shook her head. "No, um…he's not home." The girl's face immediately began to pull down into concern. Claire could practically see her mind kicking into overdrive, trying to figure out who she was, or what was happening. Whether she was a friend of Shaun's, a relative, a sister, a coworker. Claire forced herself to go on, so that the unspoken questions wouldn't have to turn into spoken ones. "He's…in the hospital." The neighbor's eyes flew wide and she stiffened. The color drained from her face, and her arm went uselessly back down to her side. "He got shot this morning."

"'S-…Shot?'" the girl repeated, the word so hollow, it could probably hold water.

Claire nodded. "He, um…he was in a grocery store, and it got robbed." The girl's eyes were shining with water now. At her words, she looked down blankly at the apple in her hand. "Apparently the robber was yelling at everyone in the store, and Shaun didn't do whatever it was he was asking for." Her own voice was raw as she relayed the news. Every so often it would crack. "He was shot in the abdomen…the bullet ended up fracturing his pelvis and damaging his kidney. He had a lot of internal bleeding." She'd had practice with reporting horrible news, it was part of the shtick. But it was so much harder when the news was horrible for you as well. When it was your friend, too. "He's out of surgery, now. But…his— someone requested I come back and get a few things for him." It was an afterthought, and slightly awkward, but all the same, she added: "I'm Claire, I— I'm another resident at Saint Bonaventure. We work together."

The girl still stared down at the apple. The water was already welling up enough to run down her cheeks. "He was…you said he was getting something to eat?" she whispered eventually.

Claire hesitated. But nodded. He'd been at a food market; there wasn't really any other option.

"Oh my God…" the neighbor rasped, sounding shell-shocked. "Oh my God, then— then that means I did this!" Claire winced at the spark of panic in her voice. "That mean he was there because of me, because I ate his apple! Because I was mad, and I yelled at him!" She looked at Claire with a sudden burst of desperation. Claire attempted to sort through her own feelings. "Is he okay?" she demanded. "Is he going to be okay!?"

She looked at her carefully, her stomach in knots. "We don't know," she murmured. The girl's face fell. Was she really to blame for this? "The surgery to stop his bleeding and piece together his pelvis went successfully, but now there's a risk of inflammation or infection. Total organ system failure. That's what we're waiting for now." If this girl hadn't taken Shaun's breakfast, would he be perfectly fine right now? Would all this mess have been avoided?

Her shoulders drooped. Even more tears rushed down her face, and she took in a quick breath. "Well, can I— can I see him? Can I see him, please?" she asked, sobs hiccupping between some of her words. Claire looked at her long and hard, still unsure. Her grip on the doorknob had tightened significantly. When she didn't answer at first, the girl pressed on. "Please? Please, I— he's been nothing but a very sweet friend, and I— I shouldn't have yelled at him this morning, I shouldn't have— oh, God…" She reached up to swipe at her cheeks. "Can I please see him?" She was practically begging. "Is he at your hospital? I— I need to apologize."

"He's still asleep," Claire replied, her voice quiet. "He hasn't woken up yet. He probably won't for a long while, yet."

"Then I just want to see him," she struggled. Claire said nothing; she just stared at her.

Her lower lip trembled, and she tried again. "Please, can I please see him?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Doctor Glassman?" He immediately looked up at the sound of his name. Against himself, the smallest interruption was enough to send a white-hot thrill of fear through him. Each jolt was small and fleeting, but they burned far too harshly, and left him winded and exhausted. Every time the nurse returned, every time the silence was broken by anything other than Shaun's heartbeat, he would stiffen. He knew the fears were unfounded. He couldn't help it, though. He was still waiting for the hammer to drop; he was waiting for something to happen, and for everything to come crashing down around him. So, even as he recognized Claire's voice, his head still snapped up with far too much speed. The girl seemed apologetic as she came into the room, but thankfully, she didn't bring even more attention to his habit by addressing it.

She was holding Shaun's duffel bag; it seemed to be full enough for what they would need initially, and the older man was allowed to feel the tiniest brush of relief since this day had started. Though the small reprieve was doused when he saw that, trailing behind her, was another girl. One he'd never seen before. Claire hesitated when his eyes went to the newcomer, and she took in a quick breath. "Doctor Glassman, this is— this is Lea," she began. "She…knocked on the door when I was putting together Shaun's things. I told her what happened, and she…wanted to know if she could see him. She…wanted to talk to you."

Lea wilted just a little bit. Glassman could see that her eyes were red and puffy; her posture was stiff, and she only grew tenser when the man's stare trained on her. A period of silence passed, in which nobody was really sure what to say. Eventually, Glassman pried his eyes away from Lea, and he looked to Claire instead. "You got some of his things?" he asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.

The resident straightened a bit. She glanced between the two before she took a tiny step forward. "Y-Yes, I did." She set the baggage down. "I just got a couple…outfits for when he'd need it, I tried not to mess anything up; it was really organized. Much more than my place," she tried to laugh. It fell flat, and she had to double back. "I got a— I got his pillow, and pajamas. I wanted to get him some…well, when I'm sick I always like to eat potato chips. I stopped at the gas station on the way in case he'd want some later. A little weird, I know, but…" She shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

Gratitude flooded his expression as he looked at the young resident. He thanked her profusely, and she waved off each and every sentiment. Her eyes drifted over to Shaun, like he was a part of a gravitational pull of attention, which wasn't too far from the truth. Once she did become sidetracked, Glassman turned to the newcomer now, ready to address her now that he knew Shaun was taken care of. "You're…his neighbor," he said, recalling it now. "He's told me about you once or twice, I think."

The girl wasn't listening to him. She had found Shaun now, and the very instant her eyes settled on him, it seemed as though the floor had fallen out from underneath her. Her mouth was slightly open, and pained shock was written over her face as she looked at him. At all of the wires and tubes, and the monitors that he was hooked to. Her lower lip was trembling, and he thought that she could see her hands begin to shake. At first he thought she hadn't heard him at all; however, she eventually roused. She looked away from the young man, tears making her eyes shine unnaturally bright. She had to gape for a few moments and try to gather herself back together as best she could. "I— yes," she got out. "Yeah, I— I live right by him. We're friends," she stuttered.

Glassman just stared at her. She closed her mouth, her lips trembling now. "But I— I…" Her eyes kept flickering to Shaun, unable to stay away. Despite the fact that she would rather see anything else. She had to close them, eventually, unable to stomach it. Her voice was laden with guilt and fear when she continued. She was practically shoving out her words. "I, uh…this morning I went into his apartment, I was really upset because of— because of something that happened, it was really stupid." Glassman listened in silence, his expression grave. "I was angry and I was yelling, and I— I ate an apple that was just sitting out, I didn't know it was his breakfast."

His eyes flashed.

She was reaching up now to wipe at her eyes. "Claire told me that's what he was doing. She said that he was trying to get food— that— that wouldn't have happened if I haven't eaten his apple. He wouldn't have been there, he wouldn't have— gotten shot, I couldn't believe it when I heard it, I am so so sorry, I had no idea that anything like that would happen!" Her voice was slowly getting out of control; she was rambling now, and Claire was looking away, suddenly wondering whether or not she was imposing. Lea took in a sharp gasp, her shoulders heaving in tiny gasps. "I understand completely if you don't want me here, I don't think I would even want me here, but when I heard what happened— how he had to have surgery, and you guys were just waiting for something horrible to happen— I had to come and see him, I had to try, but oh my God…"

She looked back at him. Glassman's stomach churned at the sheer amount of worry that was on her face. The shame, and the culpability. "I understand if you want me to leave, and I will, if you want me to, I just had to see that he was okay." She weakened, looking down at her unconscious friend mournfully. "I just had to see if he was okay, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry." She shook her head and cringed away from it all. As if it was a blow that could be avoided. She tried to take in a deeper, more level breath, but it was more than slightly difficult. "I'll go," she offered, sounding defeated. "I just wanted to see him, and I wanted to say that. To you. And to him. I'm so sorry, if he—…I'll never forgive myself."

Claire closed her eyes.

Glassman looked like he was going to be sick. Still, he was mute.

Lea looked at Shaun one last time. A last lingering, sorrowful stare. "Okay," she whispered. She started to turn. "I'm—"

"The…" She stopped immediately at Glassman's voice. Her face fell when she turned to look back at him. He paused for a long moment, as if he wasn't exactly set on what to say. He looked down at Shaun. This sparing glance made the resolve for him. "The Intensive Care Unit is closed to visitors. After eight PM," he murmured. "Only immediate family is allowed to stay, after that." Claire frowned at this. Technically that was true. But Glassman himself wasn't even family, if they were being technical. And he was the president of this hospital; if there was ever a time for exceptions to be made, it would be now, with his blessing. Not to mention that sometimes that specific rule was bent, anyway.

Lea wilted.

But before she could say anything, he went on. "But…visiting is allowed again tomorrow morning. You can come and see him then, if you want." This was said slowly, and without very much drive behind it. Claire pieced the puzzle together, standing beside the other girl, who was still crying. The way he was looking at her said enough; she didn't blame it for him either. It was clear that Lea was more than contrite for the slip-up. But even she couldn't hold back the tiniest sting of anger at the knowledge that she was responsible for this entire thing happening. It wasn't enough to actually come forward, or show. But it was enough to offset her just the slightest bit. She had no idea what it might feel like for Glassman. He would never have the heart to ban her from seeing him entirely. She was Shaun's friend. Shaun was an adult. But maybe a night's chance to come to terms with the fact that she had caused this would help the idea to settle.

The offer was soft, and it was reluctant. But it was more than Lea had been expecting, apparently. Her eyes widened, and her expression wiped with overwhelmed surprise. "I…I can?" she asked. Glassman was looking back at Shaun, now. He gave a small nod. The girl sagged and closed her eyes, overcome with relief and gratitude. "Thank you," she all but sighed. "Really, I…" She didn't seem to have the words. But it was alright, because Glassman was sitting back down anyway, in the chair permanently pulled up to where Shaun's head was resting. She took in a slow breath and repeated again, a little clearer this time: "Thank you."

He said nothing— he didn't even look to her again. She glanced at Claire questioningly, but the doctor only tilted her head back for the door. Lea lingered over Shaun for one more heartbeat. Unimaginable pain and guilt flickered through her eyes when she looked at the ventilator he was still hooked to, and every IV that was stuck into his skin. If she had just left his apple alone this morning…tears stung her eyes and she quickly made back for the hallway. To leave before she started to cry all over again.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I feel like the worst person in the world."

"I'm not going to lie, you're pretty up there at the moment."

"Jared!"

"Sorry. Bad joke. My apologies."

Claire glared at her friend sharply for a moment more before she turned back to Lea and smiled. The girl didn't seem angered by Jared's slight insensitivity; she looked like she agreed with him. She looked about ten times as miserable as she had the night before. "You're fine," she said gently. The other looked up at this, clearly doubtful. "Really. Everyone makes mistakes, this was just…a little bit of a bigger one. You couldn't have known he would have gone out for another apple. You couldn't have known that there would be a shooting. It was all just an unfortunate mistake. But it'll be okay."

She reached out and touched her hand. "He made it through the night perfectly fine; there was no problems whatsoever." She'd ended up staying just to be sure. She'd grabbed a couple hours of sleep and a shower in the doctor's lounge; Jared had done the same. Without question, the pair had stayed for their friend, staring at their pagers for any change at all. If Shaun still wasn't stable today, it was unspoken they would do the same tonight as well. "He's likely to wake up sometime today, and when that happens, he won't blame you for anything at all. Okay?"

Lea smiled wearily, unsure whether or not she could trust her advice all the way. "Okay," she murmured. Claire beamed and took her hand back. They were all standing in the hall, loitering. Before Claire and Jared had to meet Melendez for their day's work, and before Lea went back to Shaun's room. She casted a glance over her shoulder, towards his door. "That guy is pissed at me…not that I don't blame him, I'm pissed at me, too."

"Doctor Glassman?" Claire asked. "No…they're just very close. He's just worried about him. I'm sure he doesn't hold you accountable."

"Is he…his dad?" she asked. She didn't know anything about Shaun's family; he never mentioned them.

The question was met with an odd kind of silence. Claire's eyes flashed, and Jared's hands went up to his hips. The two residents spared a small glance, which was half awkward and half confused. Contrasting that, Claire looked back and shook her head in an affirmative way. "No, he's not," she said. "They're just…close. It's complicated." Her eyes started to drift back to the door as well, and her expression grew the smallest bit sadder. "I think they're the closest you can get, though. Without being a father and a son." She shook herself out of it and looked back. "But you'll be fine. He'll understand. Maybe you can take over sitting with Shaun; I'm sure he's probably got a pile of stuff to handle he's just putting off." This was said with little to no faith whatsoever. She was almost certain he was bolted to his side, especially since he hadn't woken up yet. "But…could you do me a favor?"

"Of course," Lea said at once. "Anything."

"Could you page me and Jared when he wakes up?" she requested, anxious. Jared looked just as much so. "Just tell someone around you to page us or Melendez. We'd just like to see him."

Lea softened. She smiled at the two of them. "Yeah, of course. I'll do that."

Claire stepped forward and pulled her into a tiny but bracing hug. When she pulled away she squeezed her shoulder, before she turned and started to head down the hall. Jared flashed Lea one last grin before he turned and followed. They had to get on with whatever it was they did around here, carrying a heavier weight of the team now that they were short a player. Lea watched them go, a bit of her sorrow creeping back. Yet at the same time, she felt the smallest bit better for having their support behind her despite everything. Shaun had told her about his coworkers before, in minimal detail. He'd said they were nice; most of the time.

She found that she couldn't argue against that.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The room was quiet. A stifling and uncomfortable kind of quiet that she wasn't quite used to breathing around. Lea was sitting on the couch against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. Glassman was sitting right where he'd been the night before, at Shaun's head. He hovered anxiously. She could practically feel his worry like needles pricking her skin. It had been a few hours, and nothing had changed. Shaun had been taken off the ventilator, at least, but he was still asleep. He wasn't even twitching every so often; it was like he was frozen. He looked peaceful. Not like someone that had gotten shot.

She was studying the tops of her knees. But, softly, she spoke up, breaking the silence that had persisted for hours. "Um…I think he's mentioned you before. To me," she managed. Glassman didn't turn. "I didn't really connect the dots before. But when he was telling me about his job, he— he said that the president of the hospital really helped push for him to get it. Otherwise he probably would have been rejected." She looked at him now, frowning. "That's you, right? You're the…president of the hospital?" She hadn't even known that was a thing. Was there a hospital congress? A joke that would go unsaid, in this specific situation at hand.

Initially, she figured he wouldn't reply. She wouldn't blame him. So when he did, she stiffened with a bit of surprise. "I am. I fought for him."

She didn't want to push her luck. But all the same… "How come?"

"He's a brilliant surgeon." She could pick up on the defensiveness of his tone at once. She wondered if he was as touchy with everyone else, or if it was only with her. "He's extraordinarily gifted. There was no reason not to." It was all said very curtly. She nodded, picking up on the fact he didn't wish to talk. She looked back at her knees and leaned back more against the arm of the couch. A few minutes passed with Shaun's heartbeat the only noise to be heard. Until Glassman was the one to speak, now. "You're his neighbor?" He'd already asked the question before.

"Yeah. We, uh…we've hung out a few times. Not a lot, but…we're friends. I picked him up one time— he missed a stop on the bus or something, he was just standing on the sidewalk when I drove by." He turned a little bit at this. "He's funny. Really different, but…it's a good different. He doesn't lie to you, or try to make you feel better about anything. I've been over to visit a couple of times, I like talking to him." Glassman looked back at her; if she didn't know any better, there was a hint of surprise in the back of his gaze. "I don't know, I— I really like him. If I'd have known…" Her voice broke a bit. She cleared her throat and shook her head. She didn't know how else to say it. "I feel like absolute shit," she whispered, almost to herself.

Glassman stared at her for a long moment. He looked her up and down. Before he said, in a little bit gentler of a voice than before: "You didn't know anything would happen." She looked at him, her expression falling. But his was almost a twin copy of hers. "I should have been there to help him, too. My…daughter. She died, thirteen years ago yesterday." Lea's eyes widened, and rounded out with sympathy. "I didn't have breakfast with him because I wanted to go down to her old high school." He shook his head ruefully. "And in the process, I almost…" The next words weren't spoken, but they didn't need to be. "I pushed him away. I should have kept him close."

She hesitated. She glanced at Shaun, almost as if she was worried he was eavesdropping. But he was still as dead to the world as ever. She wracked her brain for something to say that would suffice. Something that would bring peace to the both of them when she knew that the feat would be near impossible. Eventually, she just crafted a small smile, and offered it to him in the hopes that it would at least make the bitter pill a little easier to swallow. "Looks like we both have something to make up to him, then."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Lea was true to her promise. The very second that Shaun began to wake up, she was dashing out into the hall, grabbing the nearest poor soul walking past her in scrubs and snapping at them to page Claire. In no way, though, did she stop to make sure that the message was actually relayed, or if she'd chosen the correct person. The moment the words fell out of her mouth in a rush, she spun around to shoot back into the room. It hadn't been much— just the smallest of twitches, and a significantly louder and longer exhale. But by the time had gotten back, his eyes were prying themselves open with difficulty.

Glassman was absolutely stiff and rigid. Tensely, he watched Shaun open his eyes and come back to himself. He allowed the young man a tiny moment to gather where he was and what had happened. Lea was silent for the time being and allowed him to speak first. When he did, he sounded almost frightened of the response he might get. "Shaun…" Shaun blinked slowly, groggily, and his head fell to the side, towards his name. He looked up at Glassman, whose face broke out into an ecstatic smile. A relieved laugh bubbled out from his throat, and his eyes began to water all over again, this time from sheer happiness. That Shaun's eyes were open, and that he was looking at him, and that he was officially there. "Shaun, oh my God," he exhaled. "You're okay. You're okay…"

Shaun blinked again, in that slow and sluggish manner. He dragged his head back center, to look at himself with what was probably supposed to be a thoughtful expression. He was still so out of sorts that it wasn't quite all the way there. He hummed in the back of his throat, a bleary wince coming over his face. "I was shot," he declared, as if it was news that needed spreading. His voice was quiet. But all the same, Glassman's chest tore in relief to hear it. "I went…to the store. A man came in with a gun. He…wasn't making any sense."

"I know, I know," Glassman reassured. "But it's okay, Shaun, it's all okay, because you made it through. For a while, I— I had no idea, I was…I was so worried." His eyes welled even more. Shaun looked back up at him. "You had…the bullet, it— it ended up fracturing your pelvis, and damaging one of your kidneys. There was a lot of blood, you were hardly breathing when you reached the hospital. But Melendez rushed you into surgery. You pulled through by the skin of your teeth." He had to stop and swallow back the lump in his throat, before it could start to constrict his words. "You were asleep all day. It's November twenty-second, now."

Unsurprisingly, Shaun seemed interested in the little details. Despite the fact he was still half-aware, his forehead creased, and he tilted his head just a little bit. "Was it…a type B fracture? Or a type C?" Glassman laughed again and ducked his head. "Small caliber bullets can cause…unintended and unpredictable injuries. It could have…" He broke off, and his forehead creased even more. He looked at Glassman differently now, and his voice was even quieter when he asked: "Why are you crying?"

Glassman reached up and wiped away the tears that were streaming down his face. He laughed again, and he shook his head. He looked at the young man, and deep affection made his stare as soft as down. "Because I'm just so happy," he explained. "I'm happy that you're okay. I'm happy that you're still here." He smiled fondly down at him, and Shaun brought himself to smile too, in turn. A moment of silence passed, before Glassman cleared his throat and glanced at Lea. She'd been watching the entire thing unfold in respectful silence. "Lea is here, Shaun. She was very worried about you." This was the smallest bit softer.

Shaun blinked and turned his head around the other way. He hadn't even noticed her being there until it was indicated.

Lea smiled a watery little grin. "Hi, Shaun."

He seemed surprised to see her, to say the least. But he still returned the greeting. "Hi, Lea."

He said this like they were just running into each other in a coffee shop on accident. It made her giggle, but the smile quickly dropped, and that guilty frown came back to replace it. "I'm so sorry, Shaun," she murmured. "I took your apple yesterday— that's why you were at the store. If I hadn't, you never would have even been in that situation. There's literally nothing I could ever do in my life to make up for what I just made happen. But…I wanted to say I was sorry."

"It's okay." She wasn't surprised by the easy forgiveness at all. It didn't do much to lessen the sorrow weighing down her face. He didn't look as aware as he usually was; it was strange, to see him unfocused and warped. She wasn't sure what to say— there was too much. A beat of silence passed, in which they just stared at each other. Until Shaun spoke again, in a tiny hum that was a little bit muddled. "Have you gotten headphones yet?"

She closed her eyes and ducked her head, breaking down into a fit of giggles. She couldn't help it. Her voice was laden with affection when she reached over and tapped his hand gently. "You're awful," she gushed. "I'm very glad you're okay, Shaun Murphy." Shaun smiled at this, and Glassman's eyes flickered between the two of them carefully. The odd feeling that had sat in the pit of his stomach ever since he'd seen this girl was still there— he hadn't been lying when he'd told her that it wasn't entirely her fault. He had blame, too. But still; the first time he'd met her, and it was in the aftermath of an accident she had inadvertently put Shaun in. He wasn't sure what to think about her; how could he be sure? Seeing Shaun brighten at the sight of her, a rare occurrence if he'd ever seen one, suddenly the man was even more conflicted.

"Shaun!"

Glassman and Lea whirled around at the call. Shaun was slower to react. By the time he turned his head towards the voice, Claire was already halfway to his bed, with Jared rushing in right beside her. Melendez was trailing behind, and bringing up the rear. An ecstatic smile was spread over Claire's face when Shaun's eyes met hers, and she quickly rushed the rest of the way until she could stand beside Lea. "You're awake! You're okay!" Relief was alive in every syllable of her voice. "That's fantastic, because if you had left me here with just Jared, I would have been like…right behind you."

Jared shot her a look. "Let's not," he encouraged, only putting the smallest of dampers on Claire's mood. When he looked down at Shaun, his expression was noticeably softer than usual. "How're feeling?" he asked. It was a little strange. Usually Shaun was beside him, spouting off medical information and diagnoses like he was a fire hydrant. Now he was the one in the bed. Though Jared was fully aware of the fact that he was probably more than capable of going off on a five-minute long tangent about his own symptoms and what they meant. Or maybe not now, because he had just woken up. But he'd put fifty dollars on it maybe happening in around an hour.

"It hurts," he offered.

Jared made a face. "Being shot tends to hurt just a bit. Or so I've heard."

Claire clapped her hands together, leaning down a bit over Shaun to catch his gaze. "Shaun, you'll never believe what happened yesterday!" she egged. Up until this point, she'd been quiet and morose. Now that Shaun was awake and okay for the moment at hand, she was bubbling over with happiness. A smile cracked over Jared's face at the look on hers. Though it faded when she started to go on. "We had a patient that we were trying to handle— you'll never guess what they had, and you'll never guess what Jared thought that they had! If you were there, you would have been mortified."

"It was a good guess on what it could be," Jared reasoned, very quick to defend himself. "You never know!"

"Yeah, okay." The reply was more than dismissive. "No. Shaun, you'll get a kick out of it…"

Shaun looked between the two of them, overwhelmed at their clustering and interjections. He was paying close attention, though, and attempting to keep up with the two. While he was distracted, Melendez weaved forward, his eyes training on the monitor that was tracking Shaun's vitals. "How's he been?" he asked, in the smallest of mumbles. As if he was afraid of Shaun hearing.

Glassman looked at him, noticing the small bits of worry he was likely attempting to bury. The side of his mouth twitched upwards, in the beginnings of a smile. "Fine. He's been perfectly fine. Thank God…"

Melendez kept looking over the screen. Eventually, looking at Shaun, he gave a small nod. "Okay." Claire was laughing now as Shaun started to relay all the reasons why Jared's diagnosis was wrong. 'Wrong' was his chosen word, Claire's was 'idiotic.' Melendez could agree with the both of them. "He's got a couple hours left before the twenty-four hour mark is passed. He's not out of the woods, yet." The warning was whispered just like the rest of it was. Now, it came with a thick layer of caution. "We've still got to keep a close eye on him and make sure nothing goes wrong…"

Glassman smiled knowingly. "I would have thought you'd enjoy the break from him," he said, only half-joking.

Melendez hesitated. He looked away from his resident to him instead; by now, Shaun was invested in a small argument with Jared, who was clearly only disagreeing for the fun of it. Shaun didn't seem to find any humor in it, though, as he was very driven to proving his point. It took more and more effort for Aaron to keep his smile in check when they met eyes. The younger doctor's mouth was slightly open, his expression a little stricken. He could practically see him trying to grab at something to say. His hands went on his hips and he eventually shook his head just a little bit. "I mean…" His tone gave off the vibe of: 'Duh' even though it was anything but. "Did you hear what Jared thought the patient had, yesterday?" he hissed. "I didn't realize how used I'd gotten to him constantly shoving his opinions into my ear."

Glassman's eyes flashed, and he couldn't hold back his grin, now. Claire was telling Shaun about this morning, now, and how she'd shown Lea the cafeteria downstairs. Lea was giving her official opinion on the setting of his 'natural habitat'; so far, she was giving her stamp of approval. "High praise," he murmured. Shaun was mumbling again, tiredly elaborating the fact that this wouldn't be considered his habitat. Despite the fact he'd been sleeping for ages, he looked thoroughly exhausted. But he was still keen on proving a point. The older man let out a slow exhale. His shoulders drooped. "I'm just glad he's okay…" he whispered. "He's going to be fine…"

Lea was shaking her head. She was saying something about him being a worse neighbor than she was. How he shouldn't give her grief for her music when he was up at three in the morning looking for a piece of hardware and causing havoc in the process. Melendez's eyes narrowed just a fraction. "Claire said she's the girl? The reason that Shaun was at the store?"

"If you think that's havoc, let me tell you what happened a couple weeks ago," Jared was informing her.

Glassman's expression darkened just a bit. But he shook his head. "It was an accident."

"Hm." He didn't sound too sure. "Seems like a pretty huge accident, in my opinion."

Glassman was quiet for a moment. He focused on Shaun— on the way he was looking at Lea as she giggled. He took in a slow breath. "Some are bigger than others," he exhaled. "Does that mean we shouldn't forgive them?" Melendez was silent at the question; he wasn't even sure he really wanted an answer, though. There was a sense of finality that seemed to deem it unimportant. The other doctor stepped forward, to break up the small conversation and ask Shaun something. But Glassman wasn't paying attention. He was looking at Lea now, who was still hovering anxiously at the young doctor's side. He looked at the bags under her eyes, and her stiff posture.

His words had been firm. Leaving no room for argument.

And yet, looking at her, he was still torn. Still conflicted. Still unsure.

He wasn't sure whether or not he'd asked Melendez the question, or if he had asked himself it.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Glassman was heading quickly down the hall, back towards Shaun's room. He'd spent the entire day forcing himself to stay in his office and get through as much work as he possibly could. It was the last thing he wanted to do, and yet he couldn't avoid it forever. The past two weeks he'd been juggling work and Shaun with difficulty. He'd gotten an allowance to linger over him when things were bleaker; but now, when he was stable and recovering, that slack wasn't being offered. It was more tedious than anything else. The entire day, all he could wonder about what was how he was getting along. Even though he knew if anything really changed, he would be told immediately.

He had an hour before his next meeting, though. Like he did every time he got the chance to breathe between papers or phone calls, he was booking it back down to his room. There was only so many times he could page Melendez before he was told to kindly leave him alone. By now, he'd memorized the route it would take to reach him. He could make to Shaun's room with his eyes closed. He paused only to knock on the door twice before he opened it and stepped inside.

Jared and Claire had stopped by to see him as well, it seemed. It made sense; their shift had just ended, if Glassman wasn't mistaken. They were in their street clothes, and Claire was holding her car keys in her hand. They weren't the only ones there, either. Lea was back, like she was every day. She was perched neatly at the foot of Shaun's bed. The room was bustling with conversation and laughter when he walked inside. Shaun was sitting upright, which might have caused relief to swamp over Glassman, had it not been for the distraction that was currently on Shaun's face.

"Shaun?" he asked, stepping inside and shutting the door.

Shaun turned to look at him. Glassman couldn't see his eyes; they were behind huge, dark sunglasses. "Hello, Doctor Glassman," he greeted.

He looked at him like he had sprouted a second head. "Why in the world are you wearing sunglasses?"

"Oh. Jared gave them to me. He said they make me look styling."

Jared snickered. "It's stlyin' Shaun. You leave off the G."

He hummed. "Stylin'," he fixed.

Glassman's eyes softened. He caught Lea's stare, and she ducked away, a little bit of her guilt coming back. He moved on, though, looking back to Shaun. "How are you feeling? You're sitting up without too much pain, it looks like; that's good." It had been slow going to get even this far. He had a ways ahead of him, but Glassman was proud of him getting this far, as it was. "It's not too bad in here, is it?"

He hummed again. He couldn't see behind the frames, but Glassman could imagine the distaste that must have gone through his eyes. "It's boring. But the recovery time of a fractured pelvis can span to a number of weeks. It's only been thirteen days. My pain level is normal, and tolerable." Aaron was having difficulty focusing past the sunglasses, if he was being honest. "I walked for seven minutes, today. From the window, to the door. It was hard." Lea looked down and tugged at her sleeves. Claire wilted in sympathy. After a beat of silence, Shaun reverted back to his main complaint. The more important one. "It's boring."

"I'm sure you'd like nothing more than to go down and see all the sneezing, irritated patients in the emergency room, Shaun," Aaron consoled. "But you've been getting better and better every day. I'm more than sure you'll be out of here sooner than you think." He frowned. "Can't help you much with the boring part. You could watch TV. You could always prank call Melendez, if you want." Claire snickered at the mere idea. She wasn't sure if Melendez would be angry or impressed. "Or…you know, you could text me."

"I try to text him; he doesn't reply," Lea spoke up, shooting him a look with raised eyebrows.

Shaun didn't turn to her. "You send me emojis."

"You don't like emojis?"

"I don't like fifty of them in one message."

Jared snorted. "I'm not sure, but I think that was a burn."

Lea puffed out her cheeks. "You're impossible. How about I just don't text you at all anymore, then?"

"Okay."

"Shaun, no."

Glassman looked at the group with an affectionate smile. Claire was sitting in the chair at his bedside, and Jared was leaning against the wall by his head. Lea made a face and leaned over to fix Shaun's glasses, which were slightly askew. "There. You can't look stylin' when it looks like you got hit by a car."

"No," Shaun replied. "Just shot." The unexpected joke caused Lea to laugh, and Claire and Jared to crack twin smirks. Shaun seemed more than satisfied at the response. He reached up and fiddled with the glasses himself, deeming Lea's efforts insufficient.

The brunette's smile turned gentler. She looked down at the phone in her lap. "Shaun, you have to let me get a picture of you, because I don't think I've ever seen you looking so fly before, and I'm honestly amazed."

"I can't see," Shaun declared.

They all collapsed in laughter. Even Glassman couldn't hold back a chuckle. He looked over at the clock on the wall, though, and his smile faded. He looked back at Lea, who instantly picked up on the fact he was paying attention to her. She met his eyes a little uncertainly, and he nodded his head towards the time. "Visiting hours end in twenty-two minutes," he notified.

Her face fell. She almost looked like she was going to argue, but she was smarter than that. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Oh," she murmured. "R-Right. Right, yeah, of course. I'll leave then. I might…stay until then. If I could…I would have come sooner, I just had work, and I…I kind of skipped yesterday to be here." She offered an awkward smile.

Claire's smile dropped a bit; she lowered her eyes down to her lap. Jared looked at Lea in faint discomfort. For a moment, Glassman said nothing. He contemplated, and he hesitated. He looked over at Shaun, still sitting up with those ridiculous shades on his face. The sight made his eyes flash, and he looked down at the ground. "Maybe…I can tell the nurses to turn a blind eye. For a little while." She slowly began to perk, her eyes lighting up just the tiniest bit. Though she still seemed reluctant to believe that he was anything but begrudging to her. But his smile was kind. "I'm sure I could pull a few strings."

She melted with gratitude as the implication sank in. "…Thank you," she said softly. "I really appreciate it."

He offered her a smile and a little nod. She turned back to Shaun, much happier now, and beaming from ear-to-ear.

For a moment, Aaron felt that sting he'd experienced for hours on end, when he'd stood at Shaun's bedside and waited in limbo. The grief and the worry and the fear that he would make the same mistake he had made with his daughter. That he would lose him, before he had the chance to see him live a full life. He watched as Lea egged him to take a selfie with her before he took the glasses off. He watched as Shaun caved, and Lea moved to stand by his head. He watched Jared lean down to take up Shaun's other side, and he watched Claire poke into the frame as much as she could, flashing a peace sign at the camera. Shaun was in the middle, and though his smile wasn't nearly as big as Lea's, it was there all the same. His stare lingered on the young man as Lea showed off the picture to him, and he finally took off the sunglasses so he could actually see what was in front of his face. He smiled as Shaun stated that he looked ridiculous.

For as long as he lived, Glassman would make sure that Shaun would never be a situation like this again. That he would never even have to worry about losing him again. He didn't know exactly what that meant— what it would entail. That could be figured out later. Right now he was being taken care of in the hospital, and he was safe. He was here, and that was all that mattered. Lea had made a mistake, and it wasn't one that Glassman was going to forget anytime soon. But it was one that he was willing to overlook, at least for the moment at hand.

She knew full well what she had accidentally caused, and he knew that she would never dare have a similar slip-up; the sheer relief at his small extension of forgiveness said that much already. She knew her mistake, just as well as he knew his own in this situation. They would clean everything up once he was recovered and well again. For now, this was enough. For now, the young man just needed to heal. He was surrounded by friends, and he was happy. He was smiling, and Glassman wasn't going to take that away from him. Not right now.

That was all Glassman wanted in this world, was for Shaun to be happy. To see him grow, and thrive, and learn, and reap every single reward that life had to offer.

He hadn't gotten to see Maddie do the same.

He was going to be damned straight to hell if he didn't make one hundred percent sure that the same thing didn't happen with Shaun.


End file.
